Reflections have always fascinated me, and any time I am near water they seem to jump out at me. Nature creates symmetry and I do love symmetry.

A beautiful reflection on Cameron Lake at Diehl’s Point, site of the Sugarbush Trail community.

An evergreen woods reflects on a nearby pond, on the 3rd Concession of Somerville.

In different light, the same site creates a very different mood.

The interesting shape of a fallen tree in a pond.

Sturgeon Point is infinitely photogenic, and she knows it. No matter the time of day or time of year, she struts her stuff and offers up infinite opportunities to be photographed.

I sneaked up on this grouping of chairs on the Sandbar; peering through the branches I wondered what exactly they were looking at.

On one of my early morning rambles around The Point, I spotted this lone flip-flop on the public dock and immediately imagined mom calling to the owner of the tiny flip-flop, “Dinner’s ready – come on in.” In her haste to comply (perhaps dinner was a favourite dish) the little girl hastily grabs her stuff, leaving that one flip-flop behind.

The chairs are set out, ready for the gang to enjoy a noisy, splishy-splashy day of fun and frolic.

There is nothing like the contrast of a red canoe amongst the foliage, with the backdrop of an early morning sky and a lake offering up all manner of activity and memory-making.

It took a long time to get this shot – one of many – as I crouched in a most uncomfortable position to achieve the desired perspective and capture “The Big Splash”.

April 7, 2017 – we awoke to a winter wonderland, long after the “last” snow had vanished and the landscape was just beginning to come to life. The subtle contrast of Swananoah’s green boathouse and the grey and white surroundings created an interesting subject.

Sometimes the most beauty can be found in the simple things, the small things – like fresh snow on berries.

A whimsical study of snow attempting to mirror the leaf below – one lone leaf on one twiggy branch on the teenage tree in the front yard. I snapped it upon returning from a walk which had yielded some interesting photos – add one more to the list.

There is something about the simplicity of the colours and the complexity of the light combining to create this beauty.

It feels as if one is spying on Lindsay & Wall’s magnificent cottage – peering through the trees, trying to catch a glimpse of its splendour which is muted and protected by the fresh April snow. If you look closely you can see the child’s red swing, covered in white. Is there a child looking out, begging to go outside to play, to reclaim the swing?

My grandfather made a habit of driving past the beach – there was something about the water that called to him. Of particular interest was the early spring lead-up to the day when the ice left the lake. According to him the timing of that big event was crucial to the beginning of the agricultural season – plowing, seeding, etc. He loved to make a bet with himself as to the day the ice would leave – analyzing the colour of the ice, watching as it began to release its grip on the shoreline, gradually breaking up, allowing open water to appear here and there on the lake. This yearly ritual fed his soul, filled him with hope for a successful season of gardening, farming and all things agricultural.

The benches placed throughout the beach area are well used in spring, summer and fall. This one seems forgotten or ignored, sharing the view across the bay with no one.

In winter the beach beckons even as it sleeps – resting and recuperating before coming alive again to welcome back all and sundry for another fair weather season.

There is something so poignant about a playground in wintertime. Gone are the kids, the moms and dads, the squeals of delight. Strangely silent, particularly under a fresh fall of soft snow, the pristine surface begs for footprints. If I were a kid, I would want to be the first wee bum down the slides, scattering the fluffy snow victoriously, triumphantly.

For me, the beach is my favourite place to eat lunch, decompress with a cup of tea, sneak a half-hour nap in the car, or simply and unabashedly avoid doing anything at all except watching – throwing tidbits out the window for the gulls to elicit a temporary fight, nodding to those folks who walk or jog or cycle along the path, smiling as young children play on the jungle gym and laughing as only young children can.

I have been a lover of gulls all my life – one of my favourite novels is “Jonathan Livingston Seagull” by Richard Bach. Their airborne acrobatics fascinate me, their feeding squabbles make me laugh and their beauty gives me pause. This gang caught my eye when out for a boat ride one day – so accustomed to marine traffic they didn’t move, rather regarding us with indifference as we passed by.

One of the more recent additions to the waterfront, this anchor installation always catches my eye – such a delightful aspect, and infinitely photogenic.

The colours in this photo are so vivid, but my eye is always drawn to the old concrete docks, half-submerged and now long-gone. When I was a kid, they were made of wood – spongy and creaky and very likely dangerous but we didn’t consider that. We would run the length of them, trying not to slip as we made ready to jump off the end, hoping to splash someone as we hit the water.

The east side of Cameron is blessed with a nonstop view of the most gorgeous sunsets, always most spectacular just before night claims the sky.

In my opinion, the best thing since sliced bread! I mean, I have great memories of the beach park from when I was a kid but I would love to be eight years old for one more hour…with the splash pad!

As the trees begin to open their buds and the grass springs to life, green and hopeful, the bench waits for busier times – when the volleyball court is busy, when the beach is full of swimmers and sunbathers and the lake is alive – with paddle-boards, canoes, kayaks and jet-skis, fishing boats and houseboats.

The waters of Cameron Lake flow into the canal, carrying boat traffic through Lock 34 and sending the vessels on their way down the Fenelon River to Sturgeon Lake.

As a kid, I took swimming lessons in the canal because the beach was, once again, closed because of pollution. I also recall that one summer our lessons were conducted in the outdoor pool at The Anchorage on Francis Street, where Cliffside Villa sits today – but that is another story.

The canal also claimed the lives of two of my high school friends; forty-some years later I still feel sad every time I venture that way, still remember getting my hair cut by Marlene Watson at Peter’s Hairstyling when someone came in to tell us the news. I haven’t swam in those waters since that day.

My random early morning visits to the canal have yielded a raft of photos, and I’ve chosen 3 of my favourites.

I wanted to portray the canal in black-and-white in an attempt to recapture my early recollections, looking at it through the eyes of a kid born in the sixties; riding my bike along its length, checking out my ‘hood, and revelling in the first days of freedom from my mom’s watchful eye.

What a delight it was to see the refurbished exteriors of the Summerland Cottages units. A fixture in the local seasonal accommodations landscape for decades, the cottages had been long wanting a refresh. Gone are the unremarkable facades, replaced with a joyful, whimsical aspect likely more appreciated from across the canal than by their summer occupants.

Hidden gems are always a pleasant surprise when on a photo shoot – this beauty appeared amongst all the Santa Day 2020 photos I took. COVID-19 had forced us (the Santa Day committee) to switch gears by offering a drive-by event, having Santa safely ensconced on the deck at Slices ‘n Scoops. During a lull in the traffic I wandered around, capturing various aspects of the committee’s outstanding lights and decorations along the canal and on the island. Turning my gaze toward the swing bridge (I still call it the train bridge) I caught sight of the brilliance of the setting sun and the stark contrast of leafless trees and oh-so-still water. I had no expectations of success – it was a 10-second series of photos, an interruption in the task at hand. When I downloaded my day’s work, I was pleased to see this unSanta-like beauty amongst all the Christmas bling.